


After Twenty Years

by staringatstars



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: A patrolman comes across a man waiting outside a bar for a friend he hasn't seen in twenty years.Based off of the short story by O. Henry.





	After Twenty Years

The patrolman walked his beat without nary a stumble in his step, giving the locks of each shop and residence a firm rap. It wasn’t safe to leave your doors unlocked these days. The mob had managed to dig its claws into the soul of city, spreading its tendrils throughout politics and business like an infection. At the start of the Prohibition, the patrolman had tried his best to root out corruption, even gotten involved with a group of cops that weren’t afraid to step outside the law when it became apparent that the law was bending to the dollar.

It’d been one of the worst mistakes of his life. 

A palm passed over the silvery scar running jagged across his weathered futures, the old pain of remembrance momentarily bringing his stride to a pause beneath a lamplight. 

He stared into the light, making out silhouettes of moths dancing in a light drizzle. Impatient, he swept knuckles over his brow, wiping away beads of moisture that would inevitably be replaced by more. 

He kept walking. 

Once there had been a crack in his leather boots, in no small part due to nights such as this, but after months of stubborn polishing, the crack had vanished beneath his repeated, nigh daily ministrations, and now they were… well, not as good as new, but serviceable. 

Someone on the force had to stay off the mob’s payroll. 

Adjusting his cap with a scowl - the shape of it never seemed to fit his head right - he stopped outside the entrance to a club, the kind that hosted live music and alcohol on the side, but the officer wasn’t stopping by to bust them tonight. 

A tall man in a tan coat that brushed his knees stood staring into the night. Upon noticing his arrival, he greeted with a strained grin. “Evening, officer.”

The cop tipped the brim of his cap with his baton. The man huffed, amused. “I suppose you must think I’m up to something?” Gesturing towards ruined flesh raised around an assortment of disfiguring scars with the lit cigar held between his fingers, he continued, “I can explain, though. See, I’m here to see a friend of mine.” A smile curled his lips, rich brown eyes going fond at the memory. He took a long drag of his cigar, blowing the smoke out in a formless cloud. “We promised after deciding to go our separate ways to see each other again in this very spot, and twenty-years to the day.” More to himself than to the officer, he muttered, cigar burning down to the nub. “If Jack’s still alive, he’ll be here.”

The officer shifted. “Any reason why he wouldn’t be?” The man’s thick brows rose at the gravelly voice, taking in the prematurely white hair and distinguishing scar with interest, though the cop seemed to shrink from the scrutiny despite never moving from his place on the sidewalk. “Forgive me,” he added hastily. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He made to continue on his way, but the man gave a flippant wave of his hand, either unoffended by his interest or willing to give the patrolman a pass for curiosity. “It’s fine, really.” Even amidst the smell of oils released from streets and wet grass, his breath smelled of tobacco and whiskey. “The truth is we had a bit of a falling out that ended… violently.” Taking a moment to gather himself, the man visibly swallowed, not quite looking at his companion. “I haven’t heard hide or hair of him since.” 

“Then he must be-”

The man cut him off, “I doubt it. In any case, I’ll wait for him.” 

Glancing at the clock through the club’s foggy window pane, the cop scratched at the stubble on his chin. “For how long?”

“As long as it takes,” replied the man without hesitation. 

“Is that so?” There was a quiver in the officer’s voice, like maybe he wanted to laugh. He shook his head, ignoring the man’s questioning glance. “Well, I suppose I’ll be on my way.” He sidestepped the man in the long coat, checking the store entrance beside the club with a quick rattle. “Best of luck to you, sir. Hope your friend comes around soon.”

“If you don’t mind me sayin’, I'd rather our paths didn't cross again. Goodnight, officer.” He could just make out the officer’s shadowy outline as he paused mid-stride to give a jerky nod, and then moved on, checking doors and locks as he did. 

The man continued to wait, every now and then taking out a gold-studded watch to check the time. He might have said he’d wait forever, but the truth was he’d always been a bit of a romantic.

“Gabe?” 

Wary, the man scrutinized the newcomer as he approached. His blond hair stood up, unruly and haphazard as the corn fields he’d loved when they were kids. A pair of gray suspenders clung to his frame, keeping his dun-colored shirt taunt and crisp. From his broad frame hung a coat with an upturned collar that obscured his features, but there was a smile crinkling the corners of bright blue eyes when he reached for the man’s hand. “I told you I’d come.”

Taking it with a smirk, the man replied, “Your hands have gotten soft after all these years, Jackie. Farmwork not for you?”

A shrug. “I’ve done well enough for myself,” with a pointed glance at the gold watch peeking out from beneath the man’s cuffed sleeves, he continued with a touch of irony, “though maybe not as well as others.” Then he weaved an arm around the man’s elbow, urging, “Come on, let’s go for a walk.” And the man followed, trailing behind slightly as he tried to reconcile the stranger with the softspoken farmer’s boy whose back he’d last seen walking away from him in this town. 

Not really expecting an answer, he muttered, “Did you shrink, Jackie?”

Without skipping a beat, Jack called over his shoulder, “Hurt my back a few years back. Been a bit hunched ever since.” They’re a good distance from the club now, their path lit solely by the blinking neon of closed shops and the occasional glow of the lamplight. 

When the man stopped, nearly causing his companion to stumble, Jack turned around, and when he did, the man placed his palms on his cheeks, holding him firm, and smashed their lips together hungrily. But Jack went stiff, the man felt nothing… and Reyes knew he’d been had.

Shoving the stranger, he growled dangerously,“You’re not Jack.”

And the stranger, who Reyes could now see was too young to be Morrison, rubbed a palm awkwardly over the back of his neck. “Well, shit,” he breathed. “Morrison never said you had _that_ kind of relationship.” Before Reyes could even thing about breaking away from him, a pair of cuffs were slipped over his wrist and the lamppost, keeping him rooted to the spot. At this point, there was no more running to be done, so he relaxed,”Gabriel Reyes, you're under arrest,” slipping on a cool mask while he waited for the cop to call for a car down to the station. What he didn’t expect was for the cop to dig a hastily sealed letter out of his jacket pocket. Reyes took the offered envelope with visible skepticism, pursing his lips into an unhappy line at the water spots on its surface and traces of bleeding ink. “The patrolman that flagged me down for this asked me to give that to you,” the cop explained, watching his expression carefully. “I didn’t know before what it meant but now I’m thinking… Yeah. I’ll give you a minute.” And true to his word, he moved several paces back.

Upon tearing open the envelope to scan its contents, Reyes started to shake.

_Gabe,_

_I was there. Just like I said I’d be. And I saw you standing there, still waiting for me after all this time. I didn’t know what to say - guess I was waiting for you to realize - but then you brought that cigar to your lips and... You’re a wanted man, Gabriel._

_I knew I couldn’t let you go, but I couldn’t bring myself to arrest you either, so I found a plain clothes cop to do it, instead._

__

__

_I’m sorry._

_Patrolman Morrison_

**Author's Note:**

> My dad's been trying to get me to read O. Henry's short stories for years. Well, I finally did.


End file.
